


Neal & George

by Gaby



Category: White Collar
Genre: AU, Angst, First Time, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 22:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8818714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaby/pseuds/Gaby
Summary: Peter had always thought that one Neal Caffrey was keeping him on his toes. That was until there were suddenly two of them in his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** This is what happens when I'm trying to get elrhiarhodan to write me some clone!Neal fic. The evil plotbunny bit me instead and made me write a clone fic. Damn it. Even worse, the plotbunny was so inspiring that the story turned into my submission for this year's White Collar Big Bang. At least I made elrhiarhodan do the art for the fic, so that's a small victory for me. *g*  
>  **Beta by:** elrhiarhodan - I've tweaked and polished afterwards, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone and y'all can't have them!  
>  **Spoilers:** Please assume all episodes, as this takes place post-season 5 finale.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine, never were, never will be, gosh darn it!

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/sinfulslasher/6185781/501843/501843_original.jpg)  


Sometimes, Peter mused, truth really was stranger than fiction.

He stared at the two men lying in his bed, wrapped around each other, sleeping peacefully.

It was a miracle.

Peter still had a hard time believing what he was seeing. It was mind boggling, defied logic and what he understood about modern science, but it was still true. 

He leaned against the door frame of the bedroom and just indulged himself by looking his fill, by staring at the two men sleeping in the bed.

Two Neal Caffreys.

One was the original, the real Neal. The other man was Neal's clone, a perfect reproduction, a mirror image of the original.

They were exactly the same, and yet completely different.

They drove Peter completely insane, and yet filled a void in his life he never knew existed.

And it had all been Mozzie's fault. 

*****

**Two months earlier...**

"This isn't fair."

"What do you mean, this isn't fair? This doesn't even come close to just not being fair! This is outrageous! It's a farce! It's proof positive that once again The Man crushes innocent citizens!"

"Moz..."

"No, Neal, Mozzie is right." Peter sighed. He was just as appalled as Mozzie was.

After Neal's kidnapping, after Neal managed to escape and made his way back to New York, to Peter, to the FBI, Peter had moved heaven and earth to get Neal that commutation hearing. He was done playing rigged games. Neal deserved his freedom, and nothing was going to stop Peter from making that happen. He even got his own lawyer involved, who worked together with Neal's lawyer and arm-wrestled the FBI and DOJ to give Neal the commutation hearing he deserved so much.

Neal only had a few more months on his work release contract. With everything he had done for the FBI and with the fact that the person behind the kidnapping was a criminal that Neal had helped put behind bars, Peter was sure that the panel would rule in Neal's favor. Neal would have never had to endure six weeks of kidnapping, of being forced to take part in illegal activity, from forging paintings to actual breaking and entering, if it hadn't been for his involvement with the FBI. Neal had been injured numerous times during his time as CI, had gone above and beyond his duty to help the FBI. All of this had to count for something.

Or so Peter had thought.

But instead, the commutation hearing ended in a disaster. The panel decided that not only did Neal have a few months left to serve to fulfill his contract; they even tagged on the time he had been missing during the kidnapping because Neal couldn't provide hard evidence that would actually prove who had been behind the ordeal. The panel actually decided to strongly suggest adding more time to Neal's contract as punishment for "having gone AWOL". Peter was sure that this was illegal, and he had already instructed his lawyer to look into this matter.

So, Peter was definitely incensed, and he completely understood Mozzie's outrage. What scared him a little was Neal's lack of emotion. His friend looked resigned, almost defeated, as if he hadn't expected any other outcome. 

"Neal, I really am so sorry about this. You don't deserve to be treated like this."

Neal just snorted derisively and shook his head.

"This is all your fault, Suit."

"How is it my fault? I tried everything in my power to convince the panel!"

Mozzie held up a hand. He was clearly done talking to Peter. "Don’t worry, mon frère, I have a contingency plan." 

Neal looked genuinely confused. "Contingency plan? Moz, what--?"

Peter feared the worst. "Mozzie," he said warningly, but when Mozzie only thrust his hand, palm-first, at Peter's face again, he turned to Neal instead. "Please don't do anything stupid, Neal."

"Stupid? Like what? Trusting the FBI to finally do something right? Something decent?" Neal's voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'm done with the FBI, Peter. After everything that happened, they expect me to play good little CI for another nine months? Not damn likely."

"We'll appeal that ruling. I've already talked to my lawyer and he'll--"

"That will not be necessary, Suit." Mozzie narrowed his eyes at Peter and gave him a suspicious glare. "You will only make things worse. Stay out of it. Come on, Neal, let's go." He grabbed Neal's arm and steered him down the street, away from Peter.

Peter looked on helplessly. He had a very bad feeling about this, especially with Mozzie mentioning some contingency plan. "Don't do anything rash or stupid, Neal!" he called after the retreating back of his friend. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? I'll pick you up at seven sharp. Okay?"

There was no reaction for a long moment, but then Neal raised his hand. Peter wasn't sure if it was a gesture of acknowledgement or agreement...or if Neal had just waved good-bye for the last time.

Peter sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and then pulled out his cell phone. He needed to call his lawyer again.

*****

Neal hated his life. 

Well, that wasn't entirely true. He didn't hate his life insomuch as he hated what his life had turned into.

He still couldn't believe that the FBI had screwed him over yet again, refusing a commutation _again_ because he was "too valuable". Granted, they used other reasons and arguments, but it boiled down to the simple yet hard truth that Neal was the FBI's best asset, and they didn't want to lose him. 

Neal was so frustrated that he considered running. He knew that, even if he did manage to fulfill his work release contract, the FBI would find a way to keep him working for them. Maybe they would pin new crimes on him. Maybe they would try to bribe him. Maybe they would threaten Peter and his career to keep Neal in line. 

Neal knew that legally the FBI had no way of forcing him to continue working for them. But in his years working for the FBI, getting to know the ins and outs of this place, the DOJ and anyone else who tried to get their hands on him, he also knew that not everyone was as upstanding and honorable as Peter.

Peter.

Neal really would run, if for no other reason than to spite the powers that be, but this would mean the end of Peter's career. Neal still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Peter had stayed in New York. Neal respected that decision, even though he didn't understand it. He would never do anything to jeopardize what was left of Peter's career, and running away would be a surefire way to get Peter permanently relegated to The Cave--or worse.

No, he would continue to work as CI, plaster a fake smile on his face for the next few months, grin and bear it, and have his lawyer--and Peter's--look into ways to get out of the damn contract. He didn't want to end up on the FBI's fugitive list again, after all, so he wasn't going to run. But he also wasn't going to roll over and show his belly. The only alternative would be going back behind bars...and that really wasn't an alternative, now was it?

Neal sighed in frustration and glared at the painting he was trying to work on. His hand was shaking so badly with anger, it threatened to ruin his copy of Magritte's The Human Condition. He wasn't a big fan of surrealist art, but he had seen this painting numerous times in the National Gallery in DC and felt that this particular piece of art represented his current situation perfectly: a painting within a painting, something that looked exactly like the real thing obscuring the reality behind it.

The thought of the National Gallery reminded Neal that Elizabeth had actually moved to DC. She and Peter were in a long distance relationship now...and all because of him. Neal felt guilty and responsible, even though he knew intellectually that it had been Peter's decision to stay in New York...and Elizabeth's decision to go through with their initial plan of moving to DC.

Maybe he should go to Brooklyn. Maybe he should spend the night there, rekindle what he had once had with Peter. They were both lonely and frustrated, and they could both use some intimacy, some human contact. It would show Peter that Neal wasn't actually angry with him. 

And Neal really wasn't--he was furious at the FBI, but not Peter. It was just hard to separate the two. Peter represented the FBI like nobody else. Now that Neal thought about it, he realized that it might be difficult not to let his anger and frustration bleed through when he was alone with Peter. So, no, it was definitely better to stay home and not think about spending the night in Peter's strong arms, the way he used to in the past.

Neal sighed and picked up the paintbrush again, but at that moment, someone knocked on his door.

Since June was on vacation with her granddaughters, it could only be one person, and despite his thoughts about going to Brooklyn just a minute ago, Neal realized that he really didn't want to see Peter at the moment. "I'm not running away, Peter. I promise I'll be here when you pick me up at seven tomorrow morning."

"Maybe you won't have to."

Neal frowned. This wasn't Peter's voice, it was Mozzie's. "Please go away, Moz. I really want to be alone right now."

"But I brought our contingency plan!"

Neal sighed. He really didn't feel like arguing with Mozzie, and he definitely didn't feel like being pulled into one of Mozzie's crazy stunts. "I'm not interested, Moz."

In response, Mozzie knocked on the door again. Hard. Relentlessly.

After a good minute, Neal threw his hands up in defeat and went to unlock the door. "I'm serious, Moz. Whatever it is, I'm not interested. I'll just continue to go to work and--" He stopped in mid-sentence when he opened the door and stared...at himself.

Neal blinked stupidly and then actually rubbed his eyes in disbelief. The hair was longer and the smile was brighter than he had managed in a long time, but this was him. Without the dark circles under his eyes and without some of the worry lines that had appeared on Neal's forehead in the last few months, but still, this was most definitely him. If Neal ignored the clothes--jeans and a tee shirt--and only focused on the face, the body build, the stance, the sheer attitude, then this was most definitely him. A doppelgänger.

"Hi," the mirror image said with a charming smile--the very same smile Neal had perfected at the tender age of ten in order to get whatever he wanted. Even the doppelgänger's voice sounded exactly like his. 

Neal yelped in panic and scrambled backwards. He flailed slightly and stumbled, but then his knees banged against a chair and he managed to sit down in it before he fell on his ass.

He continued to stare unblinkingly at his doppelgänger, who entered the loft and looked around curiously. Mozzie followed the man and closed the door firmly behind them. "Neal, may I present to you...our contingency plan!"

*****

Neal was convinced that Mozzie had explained everything in great detail, but his brain refused to take in any information. He was too busy staring at his doppelgänger, who was happily exploring his surroundings. Every single movement, the tilt of the head, the gait, the way he thrust his hands into the pocket of his jeans, was a perfect copy of Neal's. 

"...and then I bought a box of Zinfandel at the supermarket around the corner."

_That_ shocked Neal into action, and his head swiveled around to stare at Mozzie. "What?"

Behind him, he could hear an amused chuckle. Damn. Even the doppelgänger's chuckle sounded exactly like his own.

Mozzie looked smug. "Good. Now that I finally have your attention, I shall give you the Cliff Notes version of my plan." He raised one eyebrow meaningfully and added, " _Again._ "

"Sorry, Moz. It's just..." Neal waved one hand in the direction of his doppelgänger, who was snooping through his fridge.

"Ah, yes. I can imagine that coming face to face with thine own self would cause a strong reaction at first." Mozzie bounced on the balls of his feet for a moment. "Well, as I was saying, and please do try to pay attention this time, he is our contingency plan."

The doppelgänger pulled his head out of the fridge long enough to flash a bright smile at Neal. "I get to work with Peter!" he said excitedly.

Neal just stared with wide eyes.

Mozzie snapped his fingers until Neal focused on him again. "This is your clone," he said, nodding at the doppelgänger. "I...obtained a DNA sample from you shortly after you were first released from prison."

"You _obtained_?" Neal looked at himself as if trying to figure out just how and where Mozzie had gotten his hands on the DNA sample.

"Well, yes. I do not want to bore you with technical details." Mozzie waved one hand dismissively. "My original plan was to create a clone, have him replace you and thus spring you from this life of prison without bars."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "I would hardly call this a prison, Moz," he said, indicating his apartment.

"You know what I mean." Mozzie sighed. "Besides, we did not know what the future would bring. I wanted to hedge your bets. Try to make sure you could leave. Pursue your happiness."

Neal was silent for a moment. Back then, his main reason for wanting to get out of prison had been Kate. Theoretically, having a stand-in who would go to work for Peter would have given him the opportunity to chase Kate, to save her, to start a new life with her. But realistically speaking, what were the odds of successfully creating a clone of a living, breathing human being to pull this off?

Neal glanced at his doppelgänger, who was by now poking around his wine collection. Apparently, crazy as it sounded, the odds were in his favor.

Only about four years too late.

Mozzie seemed to read his mind. "I'm sorry we weren't successful earlier, mon frère. We tried. Each time something bad happened and I wanted to pull you out of here, I tried. But it took my friend until now to finally succeed." Mozzie glanced at the clone. "It's a miracle, isn't it?"

Neal just shook his head. "I don't understand, Moz. Science isn't advanced enough."

The sudden evil glint in Mozzie's eyes was scary. "I know a lot of people," he said philosophically. "And these people know people. One of these people happens to be a cutting edge scientist. It took him a while and, admittedly, many failures, but he finally succeeded." He smiled almost indulgently at the clone. "He's an exact copy of you, Neal. In every way."

Neal looked doubtful. There was a spring in the doppelgänger's step, a youthful exuberance about him that he hadn't felt in a while. 

Mozzie saw the look. "Okay, he's an exact copy of you from about four years ago. We need to cut his hair, put him in one of those vintage suits of yours, and get him up to speed on everything that has happened since your first release from prison, but then he's good to go to take your place at the FBI."

The clone beamed at Neal. "I get to work with Peter!" he announced again happily. Neal remembered being this excited about working side by side with the only man who had ever managed to catch him. He had been looking forward to the playful battle of wills--and wits--and to find out more about the intricate workings of the FBI.

Neal got up and walked over to his doppelgänger. "I highly doubt Peter will fall for that," he said to Mozzie as he reached out and, in quick succession, pulled an antique gold watch--a birthday present from June--out of the clone's front pocket, a wad of hundreds--Neal's stash of emergency cash, normally hidden in the fake bottom of a milk carton in the fridge--out of the other front pocket, and then retrieved his CI credentials from the clone's back pocket.

Up close, Neal could see that the clone's face was absolutely identical to his own, right down to the petulant pout on the lips at having his loot discovered. "You cannot go around and steal from people," he scolded his doppelgänger.

The clone's eyebrows shot up in amused disbelief while Mozzie sputtered, "Have you gone mad, man?"

Neal ignored the outburst. "We can't do this, Moz," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "Peter will not fall for this. He knows me too well."

"You forget that this," Mozzie jerked his chin at the clone, who was now curiously investigating Neal's Magritte forgery, "is, in fact, _you_." He shrugged. "Well, the you of four years ago. He knows everything you knew until the moment I took that DNA sample. If the Suit were to make an off-hand remark about that time you sent that bottle of champagne to the surveillance van, he would know what Peter is talking about."

Neal narrowed his eyes doubtfully.

"You know, the paint strokes are wrong in the upper left corner," the clone suddenly piped up, pointing at the forgery. "Someone got either frustrated or careless, I don't know which, but it's a surefire way of getting caught." He picked up the paintbrush and, before Neal could interfere, quickly added a few finishing touches to the painting's upper left corner. When Neal took a closer look at the forgery, he had to admit that it now looked perfect.

"See?" Mozzie said, as if that would explain everything.

Neal just sighed and hung his head. "This is not enough to replace me, Moz," he said calmly.

"But you want to leave, don't you?" Mozzie challenged. "You've had enough. You want to go away, and the only reason why you're staying is because you don't want to end up on the FBI's Most Wanted list again." He waved at the clone. "Well, here's your perfect solution. He stays in your place. Neal Caffrey officially never leaves. At the same time, you can pack your bags and enjoy some rays in Aruba."

"I get to work with Peter," the clone piped up again happily.

Neal's stomach clenched at the genuinely joyful exclamation. He had been like that once; happy and excited to work with Peter, with the FBI. While he still didn't want to leave Peter--the person--he was more than ready to leave the FBI behind.

Mozzie smiled shiftily. "I have found a way to open your anklet without alerting the Marshals, Neal. All we have to do is put your anklet on your clone, who will docilely continue to live your life while you run away with me and enjoy your freedom."

"I don't know, Moz." Neal still didn't look convinced, even when Mozzie knelt down and quickly removed the anklet. Before it could alert the Marshals, he had it put around the clone's ankle, who didn't seem to mind taking over Neal's place. Neal bit his lower lip. He could leave right now, and nobody would be able to find him...because "he" was still here.

Mozzie looked smug as he straightened up again. Everything was going according to plan. Nothing could keep him from grabbing Neal and hauling him out of the FBI's clutches, once and for all.

The clone looked from Neal to Mozzie and back, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. He grinned happily. "So, when are we going to go and find Kate?" 

Neal and Mozzie shared a shocked, pain-filled look. It was obvious that neither one of them had the desire to break the clone's heart by telling him the brutal truth.

*****

In the end, explaining to the clone what exactly had happened to Kate was a godsend for the simple fact that it drained all the happiness, the exuberance and joyfulness out of him, leaving him looking so much more like the original Neal Caffrey.

As if Kate's death wasn't enough, they continued to give the clone a quick run-down of all the other pertinent information, from Adler's death to the multiple run-ins with Keller. James Bennett, Ellen's death--the fact that Peter knew about all of it, from Neal's earliest childhood to how he and Mozzie had met--even the more than disastrous events with the Dutchman and Rachel.

The clone had collapsed and openly wept when he heard about Kate, and hadn't stopped since.

Neal, who vividly remembered the physical pain, the emotional turmoil, the sheer anguish during that time, just hunkered down next to his doppelgänger and wrapped him up in a hug, holding him and rocking him gently. Up until that point, the clone had been nothing but an illusion, something that he saw but couldn't actually believe existed. Holding him in his arms and trying his best to comfort him, however, made the clone real, and Neal was overcome by his own emotions.

How could he leave his man behind, unprepared to face the everyday life of Neal Caffrey, while he ran away and enjoyed his freedom? 

Neal looked helplessly at Mozzie, who seemed to read his mind and shook his head slightly.

"We can't do this, Moz," Neal whispered while he rubbed a soothing hand up and down the clone's back. "This is like having a whipping boy taking my punishment. It's not right."

"It's what he was created for," Mozzie replied, not unkindly. "It's his only purpose in life, Neal." He hunkered down in front of them both, trying to catch the clone's eyes. "You do understand that, don't you?"

The clone took a shaky breath and nodded slowly, his face still mostly buried in Neal's chest. "I have to work with Peter," he said quietly.

Neal immediately picked up on the distinction the clone had made. Instead of getting to work with Peter, he now thought he had to work with him. "Hey," he said, jostling his clone slightly. "None of this is Peter's fault, okay? Peter's a good guy. The best guy. I owe him just about everything."

Mozzie looked offended. "Hey!"

Neal shot his friend a quick look but refused to respond. Instead, he focused on his clone again. "Listen to me." He waited until the clone looked at him, locked his blue eyes-- _Neal's_ blue eyes--on Neal's face. "If it weren't for Peter, I would have run a long time ago. He's the only reason I have stayed so long." He waited a beat. "He's the only reason why I would continue to stay."

Mozzie made an unhappy noise at that, but Neal continued to ignore him.

"You need to understand that Peter is not the FBI. Peter is just about the best thing that has happened to me. To _you_. Okay?"

The clone looked doubtful but obediently nodded. "I get to work with Peter," he finally just said, trying his best to give Neal a watery smile. "And he'll look out for me."

"That's right. And he'll do everything in his power to make sure you're safe. I don't know where I'd be without Peter, but I'm pretty sure it's behind bars. Or even dead." Neal didn't even want to contemplate this. "Trust me, you'll be in good hands."

The clone nodded slowly. He had finally stopped crying, though he looked like a mess. Neal was fascinated to see how blotchy his face turned after a good cry, and how puffy his eyes and nose were. It wasn't a pretty sight. Somehow, it made him feel all the more protective of his clone, and he gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"I don't want you to leave," the clone suddenly blurted, peeking over at Mozzie. He looked downright scared. Mozzie was the only person he really knew--his own original self not included--and the thought of being left behind suddenly seemed to send him into a panic.

"We talked about this, remember?" Mozzie held out a hand. "Now come on, we need to cut your hair. I can't believe the mullet you were sporting back then, Neal." He helped the clone to get up and steered him toward the bathroom.

Neal was left behind, sitting in the middle of the floor, and he suddenly felt utterly bereft without the clone in his arms.

*****

After the haircut and getting an introduction to Neal's extensive clothes collection, the clone looked like a perfect mirror image of Neal. Only the visible nervousness and deep grief reflected on the clone's face set them apart still. Mozzie spent the rest of the night coaching the clone on various details regarding Neal's life while he shooed Neal away to pack a bag. He wanted to be long gone by the time Peter showed up to pick up his CI.

"I still don't know, Moz," Neal said quietly while his clone was curiously inspecting his CI credentials. His doppelgänger seemed to have finally calmed down somewhat, as if accepting his fate and Neal's history--especially Neal's losses--as his own.

"The first thing he was taught back in the lab was that he was going to be your replacement. He has been talking about nothing but finally getting to work with the Suit since I picked him up."

"That was before he knew what has happened in the last four years."

Mozzie clapped a hand on Neal's shoulder. "We all have to make our sacrifices, mon frère."

Neal glared. "I don't think there are a whole lot of sacrifices being made by you _or_ me here, Moz." He waved at his clone. "We can't just leave him here."

"Well, what do you propose we do? Should we create another clone but take this one with us?" Mozzie asked sarcastically.

"You know what I mean. It's just not right."

"What The Man did to you isn't right. If you really believe staying with the FBI is the right thing, then you have been brainwashed and Suitified. All the more reason to rescue you." Mozzie looked around. "Did you pack?"

Neal sighed. "Yeah." He didn't sound happy. 

"Just the bare necessities?"

"Yes, Baloo."

Mozzie blinked at Neal, clearly not getting the reference. He waved one hand around. "It's time for us to go." He turned to the clone. "Neal?"

The clone didn't react. 

"Neal?!"

When the clone still didn't respond, Neal walked over to his doppelgänger and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. The clone startled but then smiled warmly once he saw who it was.

"You need to remember that you're Neal now," Neal chided gently.

The clone blinked and looked surprised for a moment. "Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Moz."

It still shocked Neal to hear _his_ voice, with _his_ cadence, speak. Judging by the look of slight unease on Mozzie's face, he wasn't faring any better.

"One of you was distracting enough," he groused. "Two of you together out in public? Would probably cause a riot." He shuddered visibly. "Come on, Neal, let's go." He quickly held up a hand in the clone's direction. "Not you. The other Neal this time."

"I know," the clone replied quietly. "Peter will pick me up in..." He squinted at the clock hanging on the wall. "In about ninety minutes." He blinked in surprise. "We talked all night," he whispered.

Neal and Mozzie shared a look. They had indeed spent most of the night talking, bringing the clone up to speed--and they both felt that they had barely scratched the surface. How could they? Squeezing about four years of someone's life into a few hours of narration was impossible.

"You'll do just fine," Mozzie said, patting the clone's shoulder a bit awkwardly. "Just remember, you're a con man. If you don't know something or don't remember what we told you, bluff your way out of the situation. I've seen him do it countless times." He jerked his chin in Neal's direction.

The clone nodded. "I...I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

Neal's stomach clenched at the brave front his doppelgänger was putting up. He could see right through it. 

Mozzie hesitated a moment longer but then pulled out a piece of paper. He held it out for the clone to see. "Look at this phone number. Remember it. Do not write it down anywhere and do not share it with anyone. Not even and especially not with Peter. Do you understand me?"

The clone's eyes widened slightly but he nodded obediently. Then he stared at the phone number, whispered it to himself a couple of times, closed his eyes and repeated it once more, and then nodded at Mozzie. "Got it, Moz."

"Good." Mozzie pulled out a lighter and burned the piece of paper. "That's my cell phone number. It's for emergencies only. And I do mean emergencies. It'll be the only way to get in contact with me or with Neal here. I strongly suggest you do not use it unless somebody's dying." He thought for a long moment. "Or is already dead."

The clone nodded slowly. "Okay."

Mozzie looked at the clone for a long moment and then suddenly enveloped him in a bear hug. The clone looked surprised and his eyes sought out Neal, who shrugged helplessly. Mozzie pulled back and punched the clone's upper arm in what he seemed to believe was a manly gesture. "You take care of yourself now, you hear?" he said, and his voice suddenly sounded oddly emotional.

Neal's heart was breaking when he saw his clone obediently nodding. This innocent creature was going to take over for him, live his life, pretend to be him, only so that he could be free. It felt so wrong on so many levels, and every instinct in him told him to stay right where he was. But Mozzie picked up his small duffel bag and walked briskly to the front door.

"Come on, Neal, we gotta go."

Neal didn't know what to say to his clone. In fact, he didn't think there _was_ anything he could say that would make this situation even remotely okay. And so, instead of talking, he just wrapped his arms around his clone and held on tight for several seconds. "I'm sorry," he finally whispered into the clone's ear.

The clone chuckled slightly and then gave Neal one of his patented con man smiles. "Don't be," he said lightly. "It would be exactly what I would do if I were you." He gave Neal a friendly push. "Go. Enjoy your freedom."

Neal couldn't seem to make himself leave, however. "Once the work release is over and you're free, call Moz. It's only a few more months. You can leave then. Come live with us. Or, if you'd rather start a new life, we'll give you a new identity. We'll figure something out."

The clone actually laughed softly at that. "I'll manage, Neal. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

Neal saw the look of confidence on the clone's face--on _his_ face--and knew that it was completely and utterly fake. 

But before he could make up his mind and stay after all, Mozzie pulled him out of the loft and firmly closed the door behind them.

*****

They had been on the road for over about two hours, and Neal felt sick to his stomach.

"Moz, I--"

"We're not going back." Mozzie's voice brooked no argument. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and stepped on the gas. "We're already running late, Neal. The plane's not going to wait forever."

Neal just sighed softly and clutched at his temple. He suddenly had a splitting headache. "I just really think--"

"Seriously, Neal? Think about it. Your clone is you. Even if he screws up in some way, nobody's going to think he's not you. They'll just think that you're trying to mess with them or something. Chillax."

Neal's eyebrows shot up at that. "Did you just seriously tell me to chillax? You?" A second later, he grunted and squeezed his eyes shut. They were driving east, toward a private airstrip on Long Island, and the sun was so bright and blinding that he thought his head would explode.

"Once we're in the air, you'll feel better," Mozzie said confidently. 

Neal was quiet for a few minutes except for the occasional soft moan of pain. Mozzie clearly thought he was faking it or at least hemming it up, but when Neal suddenly doubled over and screamed in agony, Mozzie was so startled that he almost swerved off the road.

"Neal, come on!"

"I...can't... Moz, please, I..." Neal was panting harshly, clutching his stomach. "Oh god..." he moaned in distress.

"What? What is it? What's going on?" Mozzie looked panicked. He had just entered the airstrip, saw their private plane only a few yards away. "Come on, Neal, you're scaring me here."

Neal managed to open the passenger door and leaned out just enough to be violently sick on the tarmac.

Mozzie made a soft noise of distress. He reached out hesitantly, but as soon as his hand touched Neal's shoulder, his friend screamed in pain and twisted away.

"Neal!" Mozzie got out of the car and ran around the hood. He wrinkled his nose at the mess next to the passenger door and tried his best to get Neal to look at him. "What's wrong? Talk to me, Neal." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pilot he had hired gesturing wildly at them. He knew that they were already running late, but waved the pilot away. Neal was more important at the moment.

But all Neal managed to do was curl up on himself and keen like a wounded animal. He was clutching his head and his stomach, and after a long moment managed to pant out, "Help me, Moz."

"But how? What's wrong?" Mozzie wasn't prone to panic, but seeing his best friend in such agony scared the living daylights out of him.

Neal managed to untangle one arm from around his torso and reached out to grab Mozzie's wrist. "Peter," he groaned. "Clone."

"What?"

"Clone!" Neal repeated urgently before he was once again violently sick.

Mozzie managed to jump back just in time to save his shoes, whipped out his cell phone and, against his better judgment, called Peter.

The phone rang several times before Peter answered, sounding just as panicked as Mozzie felt. In the background, Mozzie could hear the same keening sound of distress that was coming from Neal a few feet away.

"Suit."

"Mozzie! If this is in any way your fault, I will end you!"

Taken aback by the sheer viciousness, Mozzie stared at the phone for a long moment. Then he asked cautiously, "What is supposedly my fault?"

"Neal is having a seizure!"

Mozzie could hear the panic in Peter's voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Neal convulsing as if he, too, was having a seizure. He wanted to say that he was resenting the implication that he had in any way caused or was responsible for the lack of Neal's--or the clone's--well-being, but thought better of it. Instead, he just asked, "Where are you?"

"FBI parking garage. We were just about to go to work." There was a pause, and Peter muttered something in the background that sounded like "You'll be okay, Neal, just hang on, buddy, okay?"

Mozzie closed his eyes in defeat. "Suit?"

"I don't have time for this, Moz. I need to get Neal to a hospital."

Before Peter could hang up, Mozzie yelled, "No, wait!" He looked at Neal, who was still doubled over in agony. "Don't go to a hospital. Bring him home."

"What?!"

Mozzie took a deep breath. "Peter. I'm begging you. Bring Neal to your home. I will see you in Brooklyn as soon as I can, but it'll probably take at least an hour." When there was only silence on the other end of the line--not counting the pain-filled moans in the background coming from the clone--Mozzie ventured, "Peter?"

Apparently, the use of his first name made the difference. Peter took a deep breath. "If this gets any worse, I _will_ take him to a hospital," he warned.

"Take him home and wait for me. I...I'll explain everything once I get there." Mozzie hung up before Peter could say anything else.

With no other viable option, Mozzie pushed Neal back into the car and drove back toward Brooklyn like a mad man. He could only hope that Peter did what he had asked him to. He didn't know what was going on, but the fact that both Neal and the clone were experiencing the same problems made it obvious that something was going on that could only be explained by their special situation. While he took corners on two tires and ran every red light he encountered, Mozzie called his scientist friend for information. 

"Oh yes, I knew this might happen," his friend replied cheerily. "Their bond is stronger than a twins' bond could ever be."

"And you're telling me this now?!" Mozzie exclaimed while Neal screamed in agony, curled up on himself.

"Well, it was a theory. It's not as if we have any experience with clones, after all." His friend sounded incredibly delighted. "What are the symptoms?"

Mozzie was vivid. "Are you kidding me? My friend is in physical agony because he is separated from his clone? And you want to talk symptoms?"

"Well, I'd love to drop by and examine them, actually," the scientist replied. "Study them. This sounds very fascinating."

"You tell me _right now_ what I need to do or I will find ways to make your life a living hell!"

"No reason to get snippy," the scientist said in a huff. "But fine. This is all just a theory, obviously, as we have had no actual test subjects yet, but it has always been my belief that clones will form a strong bond with their donor. Now tell me, did the donor and the clone interact in any way lately? Has there been any physical contact?"

Mozzie thought back to the night before, the hours in which Neal was holding his clone close, trying to comfort him. "Yes," he bit out.

"In that case, their bond will probably be even stronger." The scientist sounded downright giddy. "I really wish you would let me study this."

"You stay the hell away from my friend!" Mozzie exclaimed. "Just tell me what I need to do to help him."

"Well, your friend is currently separated from his clone, isn't he? In theory, all you need to do is bring them back together physically."

"And that's it?" Mozzie honked and swerved around a semi-truck.

"In theory."

"What do you mean, in theory?!" 

"Well, as I said, none of this has been studied before. The clone I created for you is my first ever successful experiment. I really wish you would have let me keep him for further studies. He was doing perfectly fine, being separated from his donor. But now that you brought them together, they have clearly formed a bond. I'd say all bets are off."

Mozzie snarled in disgust and hung up. He risked a quick look at Neal, who was curled up in the passenger seat, sweating profusely and moaning softly to himself. "I'm sorry, Neal," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Neal just panted softly, trying to breathe through the agonizing pain, and muttered, "Getting better, Moz. Just hurry. Please."

And so Mozzie continued to drive like a mad man, hoping against hope that Peter had listened to him and brought the clone to Brooklyn instead of to a hospital.

When Mozzie stumbled through the front door of Peter's house with a semi-conscious Neal draped over his shoulder, Peter took one look at Neal and then stared at the clone, who was curled up and whimpering in pain on Peter's couch. He promptly missed the chair when his knees buckled and he tried to sit down.

From his sprawled position in the middle of the living room floor, Peter managed to croak, "What the hell, Moz?"

*****

Neal collapsed next to the couch and reached out to place a gentle hand on his clone's forehead. The clone was shivering and sweating, just like Neal was, but as soon as he felt Neal's hand touching him, he relaxed. Neal smiled softly. They had both calmed down almost as soon as they were close to each other. 

And not only the agonizing physical pain, but also the emotional distress he had been feeling was suddenly gone. The closer they had gotten to Brooklyn, the more Neal's suffering had decreased, but only now that he could see with his own eyes that his clone was really okay, did he feel reassured. His clone looked at him worriedly and reached out hesitantly. Neal smiled warmly and helped his clone into a semi-sitting position. Then he wriggled into the corner of the couch and wrapped his arms tightly around his clone. 

Neal didn't really understand it, but the wave of relief that washed through him was almost overwhelming. He knew that he was glad to be back, but the intense feelings coursing through his body weren't just his own. Somehow, he seemed to experience his clone's relief as well, palpable like a warm blanket that wrapped itself around him. Neal had already wondered about this, about a potential bond between them, because the excruciating pain he had felt just an hour ago had seemed to double, had seemed to be mirrored, to be reflected back time and again in an endless loop. He wondered if his clone had felt the same thing. 

There were a lot of things that needed to be explored, to be discussed and figured out. For now, though, Neal was just happy to be back and to have his clone in his arms, safe and sound and apparently healthy.

And from the joy and contentment he could sense, Neal was pretty sure that his clone felt the same way. He closed his eyes and buried his nose in his clone's hair, inhaling the scent that was so startlingly his own. He didn't even look up when Peter's voice, wavering with obvious panic and disbelief, growled again, "Seriously, what the hell, Moz?"

Without the incessant pain-filled screaming and whimpering that had been part of their journey for the last hour or so, Mozzie was no longer too distracted to think straight. He was finally able to explain what had happened. Or, at least, he tried to. He kept glancing at Neal and the clone, wrapped around each other on the couch, holding on to each other tightly. The clone was a scientific sensation, something to be marveled at and be awed by, and yet, all Mozzie could really see was a missed opportunity to free his friend once and for all from the clutches of the FBI.

Peter, however, refused to believe any of it even though the truth was staring him right in the face. Literally. Two pairs of identical blue eyes blinked at him, silently begging for understanding, for help, for support.

"This is not happening," he finally just said after Mozzie finished his report. Then he realized that he was still sitting on the floor, his legs sprawled in front of him. He hoped he felt strong enough to get up, despite those two pairs of identical blue eyes staring at him curiously. "I need a drink," he muttered.

"Don't you think it's still a bit early for that, Suit?" Mozzie asked in contempt as he watched Peter shakily making his way over to the liquor cabinet.

Peter rounded on him and glared at Mozzie. "And you are one to criticize me?" he shot back.

Mozzie knew exactly what Peter was alluding to. "Wine is not drinking. Wine is ambrosia. Nothing more than grape juice, really. This?" He waved at the bottle of single malt in Peter's hand. "Is inappropriate at this early hour."

Peter thought that, if there was ever a good reason to start drinking hard liquor before nine in the morning, it was having two Neal Caffreys sitting on his couch. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then put the bottle away again. Getting drunk wouldn't help him solve this problem.

He swiveled back around and stalked over to the couch, staring at the two identical faces. He knew which one of the men he had picked up in the morning--the one wearing the suit--and which one Mozzie had dragged into his home--the one wearing chinos and a button down. 

Peter's eyes narrowed as he tried to find any differences, even the slightest distinction, between the two men. He had no such luck. 

His eyes travelled down to the men's feet. The left pants leg of the chinos had ridden up. 

There was no anklet. 

Peter's eyes snapped back up to the face of the man wearing the more casual clothing. "You're Neal," he said, sounding unsure.

Neal nodded. "Yes, Peter."

Peter narrowed his eyes again and looked at the other man. "And you are?" He couldn't bring himself to ask if that man was Neal's clone. Human clones did not exist, after all.

"I'm Neal, Peter," the man said, in Neal's voice, with Neal's distinctive inclination, with just the slightest rasp in the tone that was so very much _Neal_. Then the man blinked and grinned slightly. "I'm Neal 2.0," he added, causing both the other--the first? The original?--Neal and Mozzie to chuckle.

Peter closed his eyes again and really wished for a drink. "You're wearing the anklet," he finally just said, pointing at the tracker. He gave Mozzie a slight glare. "How do you explain that?"

"I have my ways," Mozzie replied airily. "We needed to put your leash on the clone. Otherwise our plan wouldn't have worked."

"Obviously," Peter deadpanned. He stared at the two Neals again. "What was the color of the sucker you gave me?" he suddenly asked, pointing at them both.

The two Neals looked amused. "Green, Peter," they replied in perfect unison. 

"What did you bargain me with to come and visit you in prison?"

"The security fiber of the new Canadian hundred dollar bill." Again, the answer came promptly and in perfect unison. The twin pairs of blue eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter. They seemed to find the situation, grave as it may be, also amusing.

Peter grunted in frustration and placed his hands on his hips. He shot off a variety of questions in quick order, always and without fail receiving the correct answer, spoken at the same time by two voices that sounded perfectly like Neal's.

Finally, Peter asked in exasperation, "What did I have for lunch yesterday?"

The Neal who was wearing the anklet opened his mouth but then just looked helplessly at the other Neal, who lost any and all traces of cheerfulness and replied softly, "A turkey sub. You smacked my fingers when I tried to steal some chips but you did give me the gherkin."

The other Neal shrugged helplessly and burrowed closer to the Neal who had spoken. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Peter stared at the two Neals for a long moment, not knowing what to make of this.

"We didn't tell him," Mozzie explained softly. "We didn't have time to cover everything. Four years is a long time. We concentrated on the important facts."

Peter swiveled around to stare at Mozzie, trying to make sense of it all. Finally he just pinched the bridge of his nose. Instead of the usual Neal-sized headache, he now felt a double-Neal-sized headache approaching.

"We didn't expect any of these complications," Mozzie continued. "We didn't know that they apparently..." He waved one hand around vaguely. "They can't live without each other."

Neal wrapped his arms tighter around his clone, as if to keep him safe. "So, what are we going to do now?" he asked, sounding worried, as if not really wanting to hear the answer.

Mozzie rubbed his hands together. This was a puzzle just waiting to be solved, and he loved puzzles. "We shall experiment and investigate. You grab some pen and paper, and I go and open a bottle of wine."

Peter stared in disbelief at Mozzie's retreating back and then just buried his face in his hands. He wondered, and not for the first time, why Neal Caffrey always managed to complicate his life.

*****

Through trial and error, they found out that Neal and his clone could be separated for a few hours without ending up in agonizing pain. The bigger issue was physical distance. While Peter stayed at home with the clone, Mozzie and Neal left the house to drive away again. They kept an open phone line on loudspeaker to make sure that any new developments could be immediately shared and documented.

Peter didn't like the idea of letting Neal go without wearing the anklet, but on the other hand, he had seen with his own eyes what being apart from his clone-- _Neal had a clone!_ \--did to his friend. Having the clone sitting docilely on his couch, petting Satchmo, was the best way to keep track of Neal. Better even than putting an anklet on him, since Mozzie apparently knew how to remove it.

Neal and the clone were perfectly fine being separated at first. Once the distance grew, they began to experience mild pain, a combination of headache and nausea. And, just like in the morning, the pain turned to agony the further apart they were.

Mozzie drove in all four directions, just to make sure. Then he and Neal stayed in Brooklyn while Peter took the clone for a ride. They concluded that it made no difference who was moving in which direction. All that mattered was the physical distance between Neal and his clone. They were perfectly fine until they hit the fifteen mile mark. By then the mild pain appeared, which manifested and got worse with every added mile. Mozzie quickly calculated that he and Neal must have been over fifty miles away from the clone by the time he had called Peter for help in the morning. Since both Neal and the clone were doubled over in agony by the forty mile mark, Mozzie decided not to push any further.

Besides, they seemed to be doing perfectly fine as long as they were both in the greater Manhattan area, so it would be no problem for Neal to go to work with Peter while the clone stayed in Brooklyn or at June's mansion. It would make things more complicated if Peter and Neal had to leave their usual hunting ground, but in that case, Mozzie would just have to bundle up the clone and follow at a safe distance.

Except that Neal was still so pissed off at the FBI that he had no desire or inclination to go back to work.

"I'll go," the clone piped up, as they were sitting around the dining room table, sharing a late dinner and discussing their options. "I was really looking forward to it this morning." Now that he had Mozzie and his donor nearby again, he felt safe and became more confident, and he smiled shyly at Peter. 

Neal and Mozzie shared a look. The clone had refused to give up the anklet until now, and Neal was in no hurry to have it put back on again.

Peter just sighed and gathered up the dirty dishes. After the shock of his lifetime in the morning, with what he thought was Neal screaming in pain in his car, he had called work and taken a personal day for the both of them. Since it was Friday, they had the entire weekend to figure out what would happen in the near future, but the thought of taking the clone-- _Neal had a clone!_ \--with him to work made him more than a little worried.

He was rinsing the plates when Neal suddenly showed up next to him at the sink. At least Peter thought it was Neal. He glanced at the man's left ankle to make sure, but the chinos were hiding any potential tracker.

"It's me, Peter," Neal said with a chuckle.

"You should wear nametags," Peter groused. "Or dye your hair a different color. Or _something._ " He had, intellectually at least, accepted the fact that Neal had a clone, that this was not just a twin or a hologram or a hallucination. But the whole thing was still completely mind-boggling and hurt his brain.

"We're wearing different outfits," Neal pointed out reasonably.

"You're a sneaky son of a gun, Neal. So your clone is clearly one as well. You could change outfits just to mess with me."

"I wouldn't do that." Neal sounded sincere. He actually looked slightly hurt by the accusation. "Look, I'm honestly sorry about all of this. I swear to you, I didn't know Moz was working on his little side project until he dropped by last night with my clone in tow." He quickly looked over his shoulder to see what his clone and Mozzie were doing, and was relieved to see that they were too busy whispering to each other to eavesdrop. "I wasn't going to run, Peter. You have to believe me."

"But in fact you did." Peter dried his hands, if for no other reason than to have something to do. He wasn't accusing Neal of anything; he was just stating facts. 

"I left me behind." Neal nodded at the clone. "Well, a version of me."

"This is not how it's supposed to work, Neal."

"I know." Neal sighed. "I didn't want to leave you, Peter," he added quietly. "I hope you know that."

Peter sighed as well and turned to look Neal squarely in the eye. "You did leave me, Neal."

"No. I left the FBI. I _wanted_ to leave the FBI. I had to make a choice, and trust me, it wasn't easy picking my freedom over you."

Peter crossed his arms and looked at the clone for a long moment. "So, where does that leave us?" he finally asked.

Neal tilted his head to the side. "Did you suspect anything this morning?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, did you think I was acting funny? Strange? Did anything my clone did raise your suspicions?" Neal waved one hand around. "You know me better than anyone in the world, Peter. If we managed to fool you, then we can fool everyone." He grimaced slightly at the harsh words, but Peter just gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

"No, I didn't suspect anything. In fact, the only thing that I found odd was the slightest hint of nervousness behind the usual façade of charming con man. But I put that down to you trying your best not to show your resentment and anger." Peter leaned close. "And trust me, Neal, I do understand your resentment and anger." He reached out to squeeze Neal's arm in a gesture that was more loving than just friendly. "I share your resentment and anger. And I am genuinely sorry about what they're doing to you."

Neal ducked his head and smiled slightly. He and Peter hadn't been intimate in a long time, but this simple gesture sparked a need in him that had lain dormant for quite a while. This wasn't the time or place to act on his instinct, his wants, though. It would only complicate an already complicated situation further.

Peter dropped his hand. "I'll always be here for you, Neal. Never forget that I'm on your side."

"I know." Neal nodded once. "I do know that, Peter. Thank you." He looked at his clone again. "Will you be on his side, too?"

Peter chuckled and shook his head at the absurdity of it all. "How can I not? He's clearly you, after all."

*****

It was getting late, and the events of the day had clearly taken a toll on everyone. All Peter wanted to do was go to bed, but the sudden discussion about sleeping arrangements became completely ridiculous in his opinion. He didn't much care _where_ they would sleep, as long as he could keep an eye on Neal and the clone.

Neal wanted to go back to June's place, which didn't really surprise Peter.

Mozzie wanted to take Neal and the clone to one of his safehouses--without Peter, of course, because "no Suit will ever step into any of my sacred refuges."

That, of course, didn't sit well with Peter. 

Neal and the clone couldn't be without each other--literally--unless they were in some way close to each other physically. So they could, in theory, run away together. The anklet would, of course, alert the Marshals, but Mozzie had already admitted to knowing how to crack the anklet.

So, no, Peter was _not_ going to let the three of them run around all by themselves. Mozzie would take the tracker off the clone's ankle and then disappear to some tropical island with Neal and the clone in tow.

No way, no how.

Funnily enough, it was the clone who finally decided where they would spend the night. In between raised voices, the clone calmly, almost shyly, said, "I want to stay here."

The ensuing silence was deafening.

"What?" Mozzie finally asked in disbelief.

The clone shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed. "I like it here." He waved around the living room area. "It's homey."

Mozzie sputtered, but Neal just shrugged. "Casa Burke it is," he announced, rubbing a hand up and down his clone's back reassuringly. The clone beamed back at him, clearly relieved.

Peter smiled as well and then gave Mozzie a slightly evil grin, just to mess with the man. He was already trying to figure out where everyone should actually sleep. There was the master bedroom, of course, with the big, comfy bed. There was the small but cozy guestroom with the queen-sized bed. And then there was, well, nothing except for the couch that was too small for a grown man to sleep on comfortably.

A grown man.

Mozzie, on the other hand...

Peter was just wondering where he might have stowed the air mattress when Mozzie, who clearly knew the lay of the land as well as Peter, gave a haughty sniff and sat down on the couch. He bounced a couple of times, as if trying to test its softness. "I sure hope you can provide me with a hyper-allergic pillow, Suit."

Peter actually could. Within a couple of minutes, he had Mozzie set up for the night, told him not to let the couch bugs bite and then went upstairs. Neal and his clone followed him docilely, arms wrapped around each other.

It was wrong to think of himself with Neal in the big bed, so wrong to conjure up all those memories of endless hours spent wrapped around each other, but the obvious solution was to have two people sleep in the king size and one person sleep in the queen size. 

They were all grown men, weren't they? They could share a bed without actually doing anything other than sleeping, couldn't they?

But this was Neal. They had a history. And maybe Peter was imagining things or maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he felt as if there had been sparks flying between them again lately. It just didn't seem like a good idea to share a bed with Neal right now.

Maybe he could just offer to share the bed with the clone? No, that seemed even more wrong.

To hell with it, Peter finally decided as they stood on the landing, he was going to go sleep in the guestroom and let the two Neals take over the master bedroom.

Before Peter could actually open his mouth to share his thoughts, Neal chuckled knowingly. "Don't worry, Peter. We'll take the guestroom." He squeezed his clone's shoulder. "Right?"

The clone immediately nodded, looking relieved. He had been completely focused on, almost obsessed with, Peter, but now he seemed to gravitate toward Neal.

"Are you sure? You two are pretty big guys, all things considered. It'll be a tight fit."

Neal shrugged. "Wouldn't be any different at my place," he replied reasonably, and Peter had to agree.

"Ok. But let me know if you need anything. Anything at all, all right?" Peter waited until both Neal and the clone nodded. "Okay, good." He thought for a moment. "Neal, you know where everything is, right?" He waved at the open bathroom door and the vanity where he kept a couple of spare toothbrushes and disposable razors and the like. There were also still a handful of spare clothes in the guestroom from the times when Neal had spent a couple of nights a week in Brooklyn. It would be enough to give Neal and the clone something to sleep in, maybe even something new to wear the next morning, but they would definitely have to go and pick up more clothing the next day.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose at the thought of the to-do list that kept getting longer and longer. His head was ready to explode. One thing at a time, he decided.

"Well, good night. See you tomorrow." Peter turned on his heel and all but ran into this bedroom, hoping like hell that he actually would see them again in the morning.

Maybe he should just stay up and keep vigil, just to be on the safe side.

*****

Still, sleep claimed Peter almost immediately after his head hit the pillow. And it seemed only minutes later that Peter woke up again thanks to the bright morning sun shining through the window. For a long moment, Peter just lay there, luxuriating in the soft covers and warm sunshine, convincing himself that whatever had happened the previous day was nothing but a really bad dream.

And then he heard raised voices downstairs, Mozzie and Neal loudly arguing, and he sighed loudly.

So it hadn't been a damn nightmare, after all. It was really true. Neal had a clone. And judging by Mozzie's agitated tone of voice, something was going on with said clone.

Peter rubbed a hand over his face, forced himself to get out of bed, and stumbled downstairs to find out what was going on.

Mozzie and Neal--at least Peter thought it was Neal and not his clone--stood near the coffee table, arguing. The other Neal--it had to be the clone--was huddling in front of the fireplace, petting Satchmo and trying to be unobtrusive.

"Great," Mozzie muttered, waving at Peter. "Now it's too late. You woke him up."

Peter raised a confused eyebrow.

"It's not too late," Neal replied, forcing his voice to sound at least somewhat calm and reasonable. "I've told you repeatedly that I would wait for Peter to wake up before we leave."

"We could have left him a note!"

"It wouldn't have been right."

"Besides, _he_ would've been here," Mozzie argued, pointing at the clone. "He could've played messenger boy."

Peter didn't like the derisive tone of voice when Mozzie addressed the clone, and from the look on Neal's face, he wasn't the only one.

In the ensuing silence, the clone said quietly, "Good morning, Peter. I hope you slept well."

Peter blinked a couple of times and then managed a smile for the clone. "Yeah, thanks. What about you guys?"

The clone shrugged. "I don't need much sleep actually," he said so matter-of-factly that, for some reason, it sent a chill down Peter's spine. He knew that Neal got cranky when he didn't get his beauty sleep, and Peter wondered why the clone was different.

"In case anyone is wondering, I hardly slept. This couch is lumpy," Mozzie groused. Then he turned back to stare at Neal. "Now that the Suit is awake, can we go?" He waved meaningfully at the front door.

Peter just stared blankly at Neal.

"We were going over to June's to get some clothes and...things," Neal explained, waving one hand around vaguely. 

Peter didn't even want to contemplate what the "things" might be. He was just pleased to hear that Neal was apparently thinking about the practical side of the situation the same way he was. "Yeah, okay. Sounds good."

"We should take him with us," Mozzie muttered in Neal's direction, pointing his chin at the clone.

"And I keep telling you that we cannot just show up at June's place like that. June might be in Europe right now, but her staff is there. Not to mention the neighbors. Everyone knows me. What do you think will happen if there are suddenly two of me running around, Moz?"

Even still half-asleep, Peter realized that Mozzie's only reason why he wanted to take the clone with them was so that they could run away. He couldn't believe the audacity of the little rat and opened his mouth to tear him a new one.

Instead, the clone piped up. "And I already told you that I would stay here." He sounded firm and had the same stubborn set around his mouth that Peter had seen countless times on Neal's face. The clone smiled up at him. "I want to stay here, with Peter and Satchmo." He scratched the dog's ears and was rewarded by a happy bark.

Mozzie threw his hands up in frustration.

Peter smiled brightly at the clone. "Sounds like a plan. He can help me make breakfast while you go on your clothes run." He looked at Mozzie and added meaningfully, "It'll also give me time to call the Marshals and request a new tracking anklet for Neal."

Mozzie narrowed his eyes at Peter. He knew that he wouldn't be able to crack a new anklet--at least not without a lot of trial and error. It had taken him months to crack the previous trackers. His plans for a speedy escape were dwindling fast, and he was clearly pissed off. 

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" he asked the clone one last time, giving Neal a nudge to make him talk sense into his doppelgänger.

"He'll stay right here where I can keep an eye on him," Peter immediately said. His tone of voice brooked no argument. 

Mozzie muttered something that sounded a lot like profanity in Russian, turned on his heel and stalked out of the house. 

Neal gave Peter an apologetic look, shrugged helplessly, and then followed his friend, leaving Peter behind with his clone.

After a long moment of blessed silence, Peter turned to the clone and announced, "I need coffee."

The clone smiled brightly. "Italian roast. I remember you like it." He got up to follow Peter into the kitchen, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. "Can we take Satchmo for a walk afterwards?"

Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes. So much energy so early in the morning. Yeah, he remembered that Neal used to be like an over-eager puppy back in the day. Neal was still full of energy, but it was surprising to realize that the Neal of now had apparently mellowed down. The younger version of Neal had always been brimming with energy and excitement. The clone was, most definitely, the version of Neal from the early days.

Peter chuckled when the clone began to chatter excitedly about where he thought they should take Satchmo for a walk.

Yeah, he definitely needed coffee.

*****

After a few hours, Neal and Mozzie came back, laden with suitcases and boxes. Peter stared, wide-eyed and in disbelief, as more and more stuff was hauled into his house. He was pretty convinced that he and El hadn't had that much stuff when they actually moved in--and that included their furniture.

"What _is_ all this crap?"

Mozzie sniffed haughtily as he passed Peter. He was balancing two rather large boxes in his arms and was unable to see where he was actually going. "The bare necessities, Suit," he said and then stumbled up the stairs.

"Bare necessities for what? Surviving a nuclear attack?"

Neal took pity on his friend. "We just figured it might be better to set up camp here for the time being, so we brought my entire wardrobe, some books and drawing material."

"And wine," the clone piped up, peeking into a box that Mozzie had set down in the living room. He grinned at Peter. "Lots of wine."

"That's because the Suit's idea of a good vintage should be considered a crime against humanity," Mozzie groused on his way back downstairs. 

"Hey. I resent that."

"And I'd rather be safe than sorry." Mozzie squinted at Peter suspiciously for a long moment and then went to get another box.

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.

*****

The weekend flew by in record time. The three of them--Mozzie refused to leave, no matter how much Peter cajoled--continued to bring the clone up to speed until Neal was convinced his doppelgänger's brain must be exploding with all the new information. But the clone seemed to soak up every little detail excitedly and wouldn't stop asking for more.

When Sunday evening came around, Peter finally cleared his throat and decided to talk about the big elephant in the room. "So, we have to go back to work tomorrow."

"No, you don't. Not if you don't want to."

"That's not how this works, Moz." Peter sighed. "It was suspicious enough that Neal and I took a personal day right after the commutation hearing. If we don't show up tomorrow, we're going to have a problem."

Mozzie snorted derisively but Neal nodded. "He's right, Moz." He looked at Peter. "To be honest, though, I still don't feel any desire to go back to the FBI."

"And I understand that." Peter reached out to squeeze Neal's arm. "But the Marshals will drop by to deliver the new anklet. If you're not in the office, they'll come here and--"

"I'll go."

Everyone's head turned to stare at the clone, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm already wearing the anklet, right? So the Marshals can just switch it out for the new one." He held up his left leg to show the anklet in question.

"Well, yes, but _Neal_ is the one who should be wearing it," Peter replied, trying to make the clone understand.

"But you'll have a key for the new anklet, won't you? Just like you have one for this anklet here." The clone tapped the anklet he was currently wearing. "You could put either anklet on Neal and back on me again whenever you want." He had a slightly stubborn look on his face--the very same one Peter always cursed when it appeared on Neal's face.

"Unless the new anklet is completely different to the other ones, the Marshals won't even be alerted when you're switching it," Neal said, somewhat reluctantly. "If I remember correctly, no alarm is given as long as the signal isn't interrupted for more than five seconds."

"More like seven, actually," Mozzie added helpfully.

Peter glared.

"And I really want to go to work with you," the clone piped up again, all but vibrating in place. "Especially now, after you guys told me about all these really cool cases you got to solve together."

"There are lots of mortgage fraud cases," Peter immediately said. "Dozens. Hundreds!"

Neal chuckled at that and shook his head. "Seriously, Peter? Come on, I don't want to go. He does want to go. What's the harm?"

"The harm is that I'll know it's him and not you."

"You're the one who pointed out--and rightfully so--that he _is_ me." Neal cocked his head. "And honestly, I don't think I've ever been this enthusiastic about the whole thing than he now is."

Peter narrowed his eyes and looked suspiciously at the other three men. For some reason, he was convinced that they were up to something, but he couldn't really put his finger on what exactly was bothering him.

On the other hand, the clone's enthusiasm seemed absolutely real and genuine. And it was perfectly understandable that Neal was less than willing to go back to work for the FBI.

Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. We'll give it a try. We'll see how tomorrow goes and then decide what to do in future."

*****

There was no reason for Peter to be worried though. The clone turned out to be just as brilliant as Neal--no wonder, really, since he _was_ essentially Neal--and by the end of the first week, he managed to solve his first case. 

The next week was just as successful. The clone was happy that he got to go to work with Peter, Neal was happy that he could spend his time at Casa Burke, doing whatever he felt like--from reading for hours to painting or trying his hand at new recipes--and Mozzie was happy that he had endless hours of quality time with Neal in which he got to plan new brilliant scores.

Both Neal and his clone were fine being separated for hours, though they immediately fell into each other's arms at the end of the day and spent at least part of the evening cuddling on the couch. Their bond strengthened every single day. Then they found out that they could actually sense each other's feelings and even began to communicate telepathically when they were in close proximity--which was something they decided not to share with either Peter or Mozzie, at least for the time being, but had fun experimenting with in secret.

*****

It was Saturday evening, and Peter and Neal sat at the dining room table while the clone was idly drawing in his sketch book a few feet away.

Peter shook his head slightly and reminded himself that it was "George" now. The clone had informed the two of them during dinner that he wanted to have his own name, and he had chosen Neal's middle name. "I know I have to be Neal when I'm out there," he had explained, looking slightly shy. "But when it's just the three of us, or Mozzie, then would you mind calling me George, please?" Peter thought it was a brilliant idea, if for no other reason than it finally made it easier to call one or the other. But it was definitely going to take some getting used to before he stopped thinking of George as "the clone".

"I can't believe how young and innocent he looks," Neal said, pulling Peter out of his thoughts. He chuckled to himself and shook his head.

"You do realize that he's you. Or you are him." Peter waved one hand at Neal's amused grin. "You know what I mean." He took a swig from his beer and then pointed at Neal with the bottle neck. "And you're anything but innocent." He smiled to take the sting out of his words, but judging by Neal's answering smile, no offense had been taken.

"Don't tell me you've never looked at a person and thought _I've never been that young_?" Neal swirled the wine in his glass and looked contemplatively at the dark red liquid. 

Peter chuckled. "On a daily basis," he admitted. "Especially when they throw new probies at me." 

They shared a knowing grin.

"Now imagine that the person you're looking at is your spitting image." Neal nodded at his clone, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace. Satchmo was lying next to him, his head resting on George's thigh. George alternatively petted Satchmo and scratched behind the dog's ears while he was working on something in his sketchpad. He seemed perfectly content.

Peter looked at George for a long moment. The lithe form, the unruly lock hanging across the forehead, the slightest frown of concentration--everything reminded him of Neal. The way George held the pencil, the way George tilted his head, even the way he sighed in annoyance when he wasn't happy with the way the sketch looked--it was all just _so Neal_.

At the same time, Peter also saw differences. The outward appearance, obviously, couldn't be more different. While Neal's idea of casual wear was a pair of chinos, a button-down shirt and a cardigan, George preferred jeans and a simple tee shirt. Peter wondered, not for the first time, what Neal would be wearing nowadays if he hadn't met June right after his release from prison. Peter knew that Neal loved Byron's old suits, but he never would've been able to afford them. Would Neal have stolen them? Acquired them in some other, less than legal way? Would he have organized the money to buy them? 

Peter knew that Neal could wear anything and look good in it. He had seen Neal in jeans and leather jacket, and he looked right at home in them. Neal made anything look good, from sweatpants to tuxedos. But Peter had suspected for the longest time that Neal's suits were nothing but a façade, a wall Neal erected between himself and the rest of the world, a way to keep other people at a distance.

George looked just as home in Neal's suits as Neal did. He didn't mind wearing them, that much was obvious. But, unlike Neal, George preferred the really casual look with jeans and tee shirt during his free time. It made him look younger and more innocent in a way, so Peter totally understood what Neal had meant with his initial statement.

"The two of you look completely alike," Peter finally just said. "Nobody at work suspects anything. George really knows how to pretend to be you." He smiled at the memory of George's first day at work. "Except that he's a bit too happy and eager to be in the office."

Neal raised an eyebrow. He had heard the stories as well. "Should I talk to him again?"

Peter shook his head. "Jones and Diana are a bit confused that he keeps smiling happily when he should be pissed off after having lost the commutation hearing, but I just keep telling them it's your way of dealing with the whole thing." Peter gave Neal a long look. "Charming con man smile to hide the hurt."

Neal shrugged. It was as good of an explanation as any. He could've faked his way through work, but he was glad to have a clone to do the actual work _for_ him. 

Peter cleared his throat, sounding nervous, and finally said, "There's no need for you to talk to him but... _I'd_ like to talk to _you_ for a minute."

Neal raised an eyebrow.

"We got a new case yesterday and it looks as if you'll have to go undercover. Well, officially Neal Caffrey will. So, that means actually George." Peter waved a hand helplessly. "You know what I mean."

Neal nodded slowly. He wasn't entirely sure where this was leading but he had a pretty good idea. "Okay," he said slowly.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "I know you hate the FBI but I'd really prefer sending you undercover and not him." He sighed softly. "He's only been working for us for a couple of weeks and...the job could be dangerous..."

"If I remember correctly, the FBI sent me undercover within two weeks of my stint with you guys," Neal replied, barely keeping the sting out of his voice. "And it was a pretty dangerous job. I got shot at."

"Yes to all of the above, but there's still a difference between you and George. He's basically just a couple of weeks old." Peter leaned forward and added urgently, "And just so you know, I never condoned sending my untrained CI into such dangerous situations."

"I know." Neal reached out to squeeze Peter's hand. "I know that, Peter. It's okay. I understand." He looked at his clone for a long moment, but George was still completely engrossed in whatever he was drawing in his sketchbook. The idea of sending George into a dangerous situation felt like a gut punch.

George looked up suddenly, alarmed, and gave Neal a searching look.

Neal cursed the bond they had and slammed the mental walls down on his negative emotions, his panic and worry. Instead, he sent calming thoughts through their bond and then added, just to distract his clone, a mental image of Peter wearing his mustache all those years ago.

George chuckled softly and turned back to his drawing, humming the Mario Bros theme to himself.

Neal sighed and turned his attention back to Peter. "Is this about the museum heist George was talking about yesterday?"

Peter nodded. It was all the clone could talk about.

"So we're talking Russian mob."

Peter nodded again.

Neal grimaced. There was no way he was going to let George take this undercover job. The clone might have Neal's quick wit and knowledge, but there was still a difference between running a con and going undercover. George didn't have the experience needed to infiltrate the Russian mob. "Okay. We'll swap the anklet tomorrow night and I'll go to work with you on Monday. Just so you know, he's not gonna like it."

Peter chuckled. "Oh, I know. He'll throw a tantrum like a three-year old." He grinned. "And pout and sulk, just like you used to do when you were young."

"Hey," Neal said, mock outraged. "I never pout or sulk. I merely express my displeasure with a given situation in a visual manner." He grinned at Peter. "And since George and I are identical, he's not going to pout or sulk either."

"I can tell you apart, you know," Peter replied, almost contemplatively. Now that he had gotten one problem solved, it was time to delicately tackle the next one.

Neal chuckled and waved at himself, then at his clone, indicating the different outfits they were wearing. "That's not too difficult."

"No, I mean...without the clothes you're wearing right now, you look exactly the same, more so than identical twins, but I can still tell you apart. I can't even explain how or why. I just look at either one of you and I know whether it's you or George."

"Maybe because you're obsessed with me," Neal said with a grin.

Peter remained serious. "I know you better than anyone else, Neal. Which means I also know George inside and out." He leaned closer, the beer long forgotten. "He's neither young nor innocent."

Neal looked slightly affronted. "He's my clone, Peter. He hasn't committed any of my crimes. He _is_ innocent."

Peter shook his head. "That's not what I mean." He looked at George, who was in the middle of giving Satchmo a serious belly rub. Peter's heart clenched. He had seen Neal do the exact same thing numerous times in the past. "Look, Neal, you seem to think that George is leading a charmed life at the moment. But you need to understand something. George is, for all intents and purposes, a little over two weeks old. He was created with your knowledge from about four years ago. We all had to give him a crash course on what had happened in the meantime."

Neal frowned and nodded slowly. He knew all that, but had no clue what Peter was getting at.

"Remember that one of the first things George asked about was Kate? You had to tell him that she had been killed in a plane explosion."

Neal's face blanched slightly. Even after all those years, the memory of that plane exploding, of feeling the heat crawling up his back, of being thrown to the ground by the blast, made his heart clench.

"I know you, Neal, and I know George. He's all smiles and charm, but he's hurting inside. He's mourning for Kate. It's tearing him up inside." Peter sighed and shook his head. "On top of that, he has to deal with the knowledge that Ellen got killed. That your father really was a murderer and played you in the worst way. I know that Mozzie told him about the music box, the Nazi treasure, about being responsible for El's kidnapping."

Neal pulled a face at that. He still hadn't completely forgiven himself for that even though he knew intellectually that it hadn't been his fault. But he also knew that George would feel responsible, the same way he, Neal, still did. Whether or not George actually knew El personally, George knew how much Peter loved and adored his wife. Causing Peter grief and worry was bound to make George feel bad.

"A lot of really terrible things have happened in the last few years, Neal, and you've had time to deal with them. George had to come to terms with everything in days." Peter's voice was gentle. "He's holding up admirably, but don't let his bright smile fool you. You of all people should know it's just for show."

Neal was quiet for a long moment. He looked at his clone, who had gone back to drawing and seemed oblivious to being the subject of the other two men's discussion. Neal had mastered the skill of erecting walls to keep people out. But he also had to learn to erect mental walls within the last couple of weeks to keep George out. Now Neal began to wonder if maybe George had learned how to keep Neal out as well. He could still sense his clone's emotions, could read some of his thoughts, but they seemed muted somehow, as if they were hidden behind a wall. Peter was right though; George was hurting emotionally, and it felt like a physical blow to Neal.

Peter looked at George as well, and he couldn't help a small smile. He had seen Neal in this very position countless times. It still boggled his mind that Neal had a clone, but seeing him sitting like this, with the sketchpad on his knees and the barest smudge of graphite on his cheek, made Peter's heart clench. So much alike, and yet so very different.

"Even worse, he doesn't remember the good stuff," Neal said quietly. He sounded genuinely sad. At Peter inquiring grunt, Neal shrugged. "What it feels like to do something good. Rescuing a kidnapped teenager. Saving June's granddaughter. Helping you put bad guys behind bars. Enjoying life on a tropical island." Neal smiled softly. "Eating a cronut."

Peter chuckled at that. He would have to make sure that George would get to try a cronut. He wanted to see the clone's reaction to it. Neal was completely addicted to these things, and the few times Peter had seen him eat one of those pastries, it looked as if Neal had had some divine epiphany.

"You're right," Neal continued, still staring at George. "It's not fair to him."

"You could tell him about the good stuff," Peter suggested. "I know you and Mozzie concentrated on the bad stuff out of necessity." George needed to be prepared in case someone at the office mentioned something, be it Kate or Keller or Adler. There was Fowler and Kramer, not to mention getting shot by Kyle Collins. Peter knew that George was still reeling from the fact that Peter knew about Adler, knew about his--about _Neal's_ \--backstory, from James to Ellen, having been in WitSec, reinventing himself time and again, from little Neal Bennett becoming Danny Brooks turning into Neal Caffrey. Everything that Neal had held close to his heart back when he had been released from prison all those years ago was now common knowledge to Peter. It was still difficult for George to accept being known on such level.

"He could just as well read the case files. You have to be there to really appreciate doing something good, solving a case, arresting a bad guy."

"Neal." Peter shook his head. "Why not let him meet June? It's a calculated risk, but it might do him a world of good." Peter wondered if June would instinctively know that this wasn't Neal. He wondered if it would matter. "What about Sara? I heard she's coming back to New York for a couple of weeks for a conference."

Neal chuckled mirthlessly. "Ah yes, Sara. Everyone seems to think that she's the one who got away." He shook his head. "Peter, really. Sara was my first try at a serious, adult relationship. It was nice while it lasted. We both felt lonely and needed someone, but it wasn't meant to be."

"But it's a good memory, isn't it? You could share it with George."

Neal looked at Peter for a long moment. He seemed to contemplate something. Finally, he said quietly, "I'd rather share with him what we had." He gestured between himself and Peter.

"Neal..." Peter shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"You forget that he's me. You do realize that I've admired you for a long time, right?" He nodded meaningfully at George. "He's me, Peter."

"I know." Peter sighed softly and began to peel the label off his beer bottle. "He's not as good as you are when it comes to hiding his feelings."

Neal grinned knowingly at that.

"This isn't funny, Neal," Peter whispered harshly, not wanting to be overheard by George. 

"Why not? He's just more open about his feelings than I was at the time. He wants you, Peter."

"I know."

"And you want him." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Neal's voice was full of conviction.

Peter grimaced. He didn't reply. He didn't have to.

"Peter, it's okay." Neal reached out to squeeze Peter's hand. "You said George needed some good memories, and you're right. I'd be happy to share my happiest moments with him, but I honestly think he'd rather create his own good memories with you."

Peter looked torn. He wanted George. He wanted him the same way he had always wanted Neal. But somehow it felt wrong, so very wrong. "He's only a couple of weeks old," he finally argued. "Despite what I said earlier, he's still so very innocent. He's a damn virgin in more ways than one."

Neal just smiled at that. "Well, if that's what you're worried about..." He shrugged nonchalantly. "He's not an actual virgin anymore, you know?"

Peter's eyebrows shot up while his jaw hit the floor. "Come again?"

"We've been sharing a bed for over two weeks, Peter. He was overwhelmed by everything. He needed..." Neal waved one hand around. "Reassurance. Closeness. Intimacy."

Peter's mind immediately provided him with very colorful and detailed images of Neal and George, naked, wrapped around each other, stroking and kissing and teasing each other. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Neal smirked knowingly. "We are alike in every way," he said with a meaningful eyebrow rise. "I know you want him. We both know he wants you. There's nothing wrong with giving him this, Peter. You said yourself he's dealing with a lot. Help him heal."

Peter looked torn. "I don't know if I can," he finally said helplessly.

"But I do." Neal stood up and held out a hand. 

Peter looked at the hand for a moment before grasping it. He stood up as well and walked over to George, who raised his eyes with a smile and a questioning look. 

Neal stood off to the side a little, wanting to give Peter the opportunity to handle the situation, but he had to smile when he caught sight of his clone's sketchpad. George had been drawing Peter and--presumably--Neal. It might be Peter and George, but it was impossible to tell. The drawing seemed innocent to the casual eye, but Neal could see the sexual tension, the heated promise in the look he--or George--was sending Peter. He found it oddly appropriate.

When it became obvious that Peter wasn't going to say anything, George finally just asked, "Yes, Peter?"

Peter blinked, looking unsure. "Um...it's getting late. I think we should go to bed."

George frowned at that. He wasn't opposed to going to bed, but Peter had never insisted on the three of them going to sleep at the same time until now. He stole a quick glance at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was barely ten-thirty. He was, much like Neal, a night owl. Most nights, Peter had gone to bed long before Neal and George went upstairs. He shared the guestroom--and therefore the bed--with Neal, so George didn't think he would disturb Peter or wake him up by going to bed a couple of hours later than Peter.

As usual when he was unsure or when something that Peter did baffled him, George looked at Neal for guidance.

But Neal didn't say anything. Instead, he smiled softly and tilted his head just the tiniest bit.

Peter stared at Neal and George, watching in fascination how they seemed to hold an entire conversation without words. They refused to actually confirm it, but Peter was convinced that their bond was so strong, so intense, that they could actually communicate telepathically.

After a couple of minutes, in which George just stared at Neal with a mix of worry and confusion, the clone turned back to look at Peter. His face was suddenly lit up with the brightest, most radiant smile Peter had ever seen. "Do you really mean it?" he asked, his voice full of hope.

Peter instinctively knew that George really understood what he had been unable to voice. Thanks to Neal and their wondrous bond, George knew exactly what Peter really wanted, what Peter was too tongue-tied to ask out loud. "Yes, I do really mean it. But only if you want it, too." He held out a hand.

George put his sketchpad down, the drawing long forgotten, and grasped Peter's hand. He allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. "Yes!" he exclaimed, his smile turning even brighter. "Yes, please!" He took a step closer, invading Peter's space, clearly wanting, _needing_ physical contact.

Peter seemed to understand, because he wrapped his arms around George and held him close for a few moments. Then he pressed a quick kiss to George's ear and whispered, "Not down here. Let's go upstairs."

George flashed a radiant smile, squeezed Peter's hand, and then led the way up the stairs eagerly. Peter was hauled along, and he knew he should feel affronted by Neal's chuckle of amusement, but he was too happy with this turn of events to really care.

*****

The undercover job went without a hitch--Neal managed to get the evidence they needed within two days, they arrested the bad guys and recovered several invaluable pieces of art.

The biggest issue they had was actually George sulking and pouting at not being allowed to be the one to go undercover.

Neal managed to sweet-talk his clone into forgiving the big bad Peter for what George called "playing favorites" and promised him to tell him about any and all undercover jobs he had ever worked on so that George would be prepared and ready to go for the next time.

Peter also promised and pinky-swore that he would use George for the next undercover assignment, if for no other reason than to make sure that the sulking would stop. A sulking George focused Peter's attention way too much on the clone's beautiful lips, and that was a distraction he did not need. Those beautiful lips, wrapped around his cock, glistening with saliva, while George was slowly and methodically licking and sucking, the clever tongue teasing the heavy vein on the underside and poking his cockhead...

"You're doing it again," Neal whispered sotto-voce, a cocky smirk on his face.

"What?" Peter tried his best to pretend that he had no idea what Neal was talking about. The blush creeping up his face had absolutely nothing to do with the vivid memories of him and George in bed. Or of him and George and Neal...

Neal chuckled knowingly.

"What are you guys talking about?" George asked, walking out of the kitchen with three bottles of beer in his hands. He took one look at Peter and grinned. Then he shared the quickest look with Neal and actually cackled.

"I hate it when you communicate telepathically," Peter groused, grabbing a beer and downing half of it. This only caused Neal and George to laugh harder.

It had been quite by accident that Peter had his suspicions about their telepathic abilities confirmed. A few days after they successfully finished the undercover job, Neal suddenly knew when his clone sneakily drank Peter's last bottle of beer. Peter had no clue why Neal was suddenly chuckling gleefully to himself in the middle of a boardroom meeting. But when they got home and he had no beer to enjoy after a hard day at work, and Neal confessed that he had known all along, he gave Neal a very stern talking to. From then on, Neal dutifully kept Peter in the know about these things, so that he could at least buy a six pack on his way home.

The best part--for Peter, at least--was that the bond went both ways. And it seemed to grow stronger with every day. While at first Neal and George needed to be in close proximity, George was nowadays able to "listen in" to what was going on at work, despite the miles of distance between him and Neal. It made it easier to switch between Neal and George on any given day because they both were always up to date, and since George still insisted on spending most days playing Peter's CI (and Neal being more than okay with it), this was a godsend.

An even bigger godsend was the fact that on the rare occasions Neal was at work and got into a dangerous situation, George would know immediately and could alert Peter before Neal ever got the chance to ask for help. This definitely saved Neal's ass a few days ago when he went to get lunch for everyone and ended up in a hold-up at the bank next door.

"So anyway," George said, sitting down on the couch, purposefully squeezing in between Peter and Neal. "While you two were traipsing around all day talking to witnesses, Mozzie dropped by."

Peter looked up in alarm. "For what nefarious purposes?"

"Oh ye of little faith. We're not doing anything illegal, Peter. I promise."

Peter raised a disbelieving eyebrow. He knew that Mozzie had accepted the fact that he would not be leaving New York City anytime soon--unless he went alone, and he was _not_ going to leave Neal (and George) behind--but that didn't mean Mozzie stopped being a con man. 

Judging from the frown on Neal's face, George was sharing information telepathically.

Peter took a deep breath and told himself that sometimes ignorance was bliss. He needed to have more faith in Neal and George. "Tell you what," he said. "As long as it's not more illegal than the stuff you already do, I'll turn a blind eye on whatever you two are cooking up."

George managed to look equal parts wounded and outraged. "I'm not doing anything illegal."

"Other than creating beautiful and absolutely perfect forgeries up in my attic?" Peter asked mildly. 

"I like painting," George muttered.

"And technically, taking my badge constantly is considered stealing, which is also illegal."

"I always give it back."

"After Neal tells you to."

"Semantics." George sulked again, which distracted Peter again, which in turn amused Neal to no end.

"Was I ever this cute and adorable?" Neal asked with a chuckle.

"I'm not cute and adorable!" George protested.

"Yes, you were," Peter replied at the same time.

Neal laughed out loud at that, which charmed Peter to no end. Neal had rarely ever given a belly laugh in the past--he had smiled and chuckled and grinned, but actual laughter wasn't in his repertoire. Now, with George in his life, Neal seemed more carefree, more cheerful, and more relaxed...and he laughed regularly. Peter loved George for providing him with the gift of Neal's laughter alone.

"Okay, you two. Enough talk about Mozzie or presumed forgeries or badges that you might want to look for in the cereal box, Peter." Before Peter could sputter or George could protest his innocence, Neal got up and held out his hands. "I think it's time to go to bed."

Neither Peter nor George protested, despite the early hour.

*****

The next morning, Peter stumbled out of bed to let Satchmo out into the backyard. It was Sunday, not even seven, and he was standing on his porch in nothing but his pajama bottoms and a ratty tee shirt while he had two beautiful men waiting in his bed.

Damn dog.

Peter chuckled to himself and shook his head. Of course he loved Satchmo with all his heart, but right now he really didn't want to be here and wait for his dog to do his business. And the way Satchmo was taking his sweet time sniffing flowers and saying hello to squirrels, Peter realized that he might be here a while longer.

"You know what, Satch? Take all the time you need. Let me know when you're done. I'm going back upstairs."

Satchmo gave a soft bark and then continued to check the perimeter of his home.

Peter quickly made himself a cup of coffee and then trudged back upstairs. He stopped in the open doorway of the bedroom, leaned against the doorframe and just looked his fill while sipping at his coffee.

One Neal Caffrey had kept Peter on his toes on a daily basis. Two of them were giving him a constant headache.

But looking at the two naked men, sleeping curled up around each other in his bed, Peter knew that the good far outweighed the bad.

One of the two men--it took Peter a long moment to figure out which one, but it was George--moved slightly in his sleep, canting his hips _just so_ to give his growing erection room. 

Peter swallowed hard. Neal and George were identical in every way. One gorgeous looking lover with a perfect body was already mind blowing. Having two of them waiting in his bed made his head spin.

Two matching pairs of blue eyes blinked open and then sparkled at him mischievously. Two perfectly identical left hands reached out invitingly and two voices, filled with erotic promise, beckoned Peter over. "Come to bed, Peter. Come join us."

Peter smiled and took off his tee shirt. Two identical Neal Caffreys--still an unbelievable, logic defying reality. 

But as far as Peter was concerned, it was also definitely something to be cherished.

THE END


End file.
